


The Perfect Date

by Caedmon



Series: An Ineffable Valentines [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cute, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22587445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caedmon/pseuds/Caedmon
Summary: Crowley asks Aziraphale what his idea of the perfect date is. The answer is... not what he was expecting.For the valentine's prompt: perfect date
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Valentines [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619491
Comments: 15
Kudos: 157
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	The Perfect Date

They were out to dinner again. As usual, Crowley was sitting across from the angel, watching, enraptured, as Aziraphale savored every forkful of his meal. He loved to watch his angel indulge himself in something delicious, loved to take in his expressions and the little sounds of contentment he made with each bite. Watching Aziraphale eat was as close as Crowley could get to a religious experience (with his clothes on), and he loved it. Couldn’t get enough of the meals they shared together - and delighted in the fact that now that they were romantically involved, they shared meals nearly daily. 

But he was starting to worry just a bit. He wanted to keep his angel happy and wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Was Aziraphale growing bored with their routine? Was Aziraphale growing bored with _him_?

The idea that Aziraphale might not enjoy their time together as much as he did was nagging at him. Aziraphale was so polite, he’d never be willing to tell Crowley if he was growing bored. Would he? Would he be blunt and tell Crowley to go away if he grew tired of his company? Crowley didn’t think so, but he wasn’t entirely sure. 

The worry was coming to a head as Crowley watched Aziraphale take bites of his meal and chatter animatedly about the new shop that was moving into the space next to his bookshop. 

“I met the proprietors today - a lovely young couple who just recently married. It’s long been their ambition to open a coffee shop, and, well, I do so love to see people fulfilling their dreams. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Crowley agreed absently, raising his chin from where it had been resting in his hand as he watched Aziraphale. He adjusted himself in his seat a little, entirely absently. He wasn’t squirming, he told himself. Was absolutely _not_ squirming. 

Aziraphale gave him a concerned look. “Are you alright, dear? You’re being quieter than usual.”

“Yeah, sure. I’m fine,” he said, maybe a little more brightly than he’d intended. 

“Are you sure, my love? I’d hate to think there was something bothering you that you don’t feel you can share with me. But you wouldn’t do that. Would you?”

Crowley sighed, feeling worse. Now if he didn’t tell Aziraphale, he’d feel like he was keeping a secret. He was no expert, not by a long shot, but he’d had enough dealings with humans and their relationships to know that keeping a secret was almost _never_ a good idea. So he racked his brain to try and come up with a way to present his concern without sounding like a complete tosser. Finally, in a burst of inspiration, he settled on a question. 

“Let me ask you something, angel, if it’s alright.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly at him. “Of course it is, dear. You can ask me anything.”

In a voice he hoped sounded completely casual, Crowley asked, “What’s your idea of the perfect date?”

“The perfect date?” Aziraphale paused for a second, his face scrunched up a bit as he considered. "The perfect date… the perfect date…” he repeated, staring off into space and tapping his chin thoughtfully with his spoon. 

Crowley wasn’t expecting him to have to ponder his answer, and grew a little more anxious. Had he made a mistake by asking? 

“I’d have to say,” Aziraphale started, still looking as if he were considering his answer, “I believe the perfect date would be sometime in the first week or so of May. Everything is beautiful then, with all of the flowers in bloom. The weather is usually quite warm, too, although not so hot as it gets later in the summer. The park is simply stunning when everything is blooming, and it feels like nature is at her most vibrant. Yes, I’d have to say sometime in early May is my idea of the perfect date. What about you, dear?”

Crowley refrained from facepalming with great effort, but did stare, wide-eyed, at his partner. How could the angel have gotten his question so wrong? 

“That’s not what I meant,” he managed. “I meant with _me_.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed, then smiled. “That’s easy, dear. My best date with you was this past August, when we tricked heaven and hell, then had lunch at the Ritz and confessed our undying love for each other. I rather think kissing you that afternoon, in the park, was the most beautiful moment of my long life. Certainly my favorite.”

Crowley lay his head back and blew out a breath towards his forehead, knocking a tuft of hair loose. Satan help him. One way or another, this angel was going to drive him ‘round the bend one day. 

“That’s not what I meant either, although you’re getting closer. I mean _dates_. Like this,” he said, gesturing to the table between them and then around at the restaurant. “Like going out on dates. You and I doing things together. Going to dinner, to the movies, to the park. Things like that. What’s your idea of a perfect date?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed again, as if he finally understood, and Crowley certainly hoped that he did. He wasn’t sure he could think of another way to explain what he meant. He may have to give up the whole idea and keep his secret after all, if that happened. 

“Do you mean, what’s my favorite way to spend time with you?”

“Yes, that’s what I meant,” Crowley said, relieved that he’d finally cottoned on. “Specifically, what else can we do together that you may enjoy?”

Aziraphale looked almost confused by the question. “I enjoy everything we do together, Crowley. Every minute with you is wonderful. I daresay we could go out into the country and dig a big hole with no purpose or something equally ridiculous, and I’d still love every minute. Why are you asking?”

“No reason.”

He leveled a look at Crowley. “Darling, don’t do that. Please enlighten me.”

Dammit. He really didn’t want to, but didn’t see away around it. He’d come this far now. He toyed with his wineglass, his eyes focused on the red liquid sloshing gently around inside and not looking at Aziraphale, trying to get his next words exactly right. “It’s just… we always do the same thing. We go to dinner, then we go back to your shop and talk and drink. Sometimes we make love. And I love that! I love all of it. We could do it every night and I’d be happy. But I worry it’s not enough for you. That you’ll be bored,” he finally confessed, feeling his cheeks flame, but still not looking up. 

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, and Crowley silently agonized. He’d ruined everything now with his big mouth. Now Aziraphale was going to think he was a needy little twat, and…

He almost flinched when he felt Aziraphale’s warm hand cover his on the table. 

“Crowley, look at me, my love.”

Crowley raised his eyes to take in Aziraphale’s face. There was a small smile there, but it wasn’t mocking or cruel. It was kind and loving, and his blue eyes were warm and _Christ_. Crowley just loved this bastard so much. 

“I’m not bored of you, my darling. I can’t imagine ever being so. I waited centuries to be able to be with you in this way, to be able to love you out loud. The novelty of it has not worn off, nor do I think it ever will. But I must ask, are _you_ bored with _me_? I know I’m not terribly exciting.”

“No! No, angel. Not at all, not remotely. I just want to make you happy, is all.”

Aziraphale threaded their fingers. “You do make me happy, dearest. Blissfully, rapturously happy. I love every second we spend together, no matter what we’re doing. Being with you, doing anything at all, is my idea of a perfect date. _You_ are my idea of a perfect date.”

Crowley gave him a small smile. “You’re my idea of the perfect date, too, angel.”

The angel squeezed his hand. “Good. Now, what would you say if we pay the bill and go back to my shop to continue this perfect evening, and finish this conversation about how perfect we are together there?”

“Absolutely, angel,” Crowley answered, raising his hand to summon the waiter.


End file.
